


Hands, Eyes

by applecameron



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23815819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron
Summary: episode followup to The Professionals, ep 1x19.  That means there's gore.  Or reference to gore.  Or both.
Relationships: JT Tarmel & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Hands, Eyes

**Malcolm:**

The man is on the floor, whimpering, when the door finally opens. Malcolm can't look. He can't think. He can only see one person, in white, seated on the bed. His thumbs are dark, hands resting now, serene in his lap. 

Malcolm totters over to him, shaking, and reaches out for his father. His father whose gaze is always upon him. 

“My boy.” His father tugs his sleeve and Malcolm goes to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his father's regard any longer, fingers clinging to his pantsleg. There's commotion behind him, but it's far away. 

A hand touches his wet face, pressing him against his father's knee and he goes, fluid, relieved. “My boy.” Strokes his hair. “Dad's here.” 

Those dark thumbs stroke across his cheeks, leaving a smear of something thicker across his face. 

“Dad's all right.” 

Malcolm blinks, long and slow, exhaling, inhaling, under his father's encouragement. His care. 

“That's it. That's my boy. It's all right.” 

His father's hand – beautiful, strong, capable – slips under his chin to his neck and presses Malcolm's breath and vision away. He moves down a tunnel, falling faster and faster, always toward his father. “It will all feel like a dream, my boy, when you wake up. Go to sleep.” 

He does. 

* * *

**JT:**

Bright doesn't even look at the assassin on the floor when they get in. Just stumbles over to his father and wobbles to his knees, clutching at him. 

JT's got shit to do, here, but Bright on his knees and the tableau of Dr. Whitly looking so devotedly down at him is some Defcon 1 Threat Level shit that needs to be stopped. 

He secures the other killer in Martin Whitly's cell as fast as he can, how's that for a ride, and by the time he's got Whitly's restraints untangled, Bright's practically unconscious, slumped against his father's knee. He gets a good look at Bright as he wraps the restraint belt around Whitly's waist. Whitly has smeared bits of the assassin's eye stuff across Bright's face. _Jesus fuck_. 

He looks serene, face cupped in his serial killer father's hands, with eyeball goo spread on his cheeks. _Jesus fuck_ , again. 

“My beautiful boy.” Whitly whispers, as JT shackles him. Gives a sigh. Touches Bright's face with his finger. 

JT hesitates before pulling Bright away from him. 

“Something you wanted to ask me...Detective?” _Fuck_ , he's perceptive. 

He keeps his focus on Whitly's hands. 

“If your son ever did something wrong -” JT starts. 

“Well, I'm hardly one to judge.” 

JT flicks a look, briefly, at Whitly's face. 

“If your son,” he says again slowly, “did something you judged wrong. Would you still -” 

“Love him? Of course I would.” 

Unthinking, JT makes full eye contact. His breath stops. Whitly's eyes are guileless, charismatic, and behind them is the most dangerous creature JT has ever encountered in his life. 

“Loving doesn't stop when your child does something wrong. No matter how wrong.” 

JT doesn't look away, doesn't blink, as he reaches down to lift up Bright. He'll carry him out bridal style if he has to rather than wait one more second for another gurney. 

Whitly just smiles. “Gently, Detective. That's my boy.”


End file.
